


An angry, angry fan

by Hard_boiled_candy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I blame the writers, Meta, canon adjacent, ranting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hard_boiled_candy/pseuds/Hard_boiled_candy
Summary: This is just a little rant about certain writers for a certain franchise. It's childish and pointless and tiresome and I feel much better now.





	An angry, angry fan

There was nothing about them, or their clothes, or the blood on their clothes, which indicated what they might possibly have done to offend Dean Winchester. They were a white man and a white woman tied and gagged, side by side in two dining room chairs, and Dean was yelling while being restrained by one arm by his brother Sam. He broke loose and bent over the man.

“Gosh!” yelled Dean into the man’s face, in a voice loud and clear and sarcastic, like Ian McShane reaching for the rafters. “Did you think that your little stunt with Dr. Sexy would go _unnoticed_? That you’d collect a paycheck and disappear into the crowd and there wouldn’t be _consequences_?” The man’s eyes closed. If you’d looked close you could have seen his eyelashes and eyebrow hairs being pushed around by the blast of Dean’s voice. Dean straightened and looked at his brother.

“I fucking hate California –“ Dean paused, trying to think of something that he hated it like. He turned back toward the man, looking for inspiration, “With the rage and heat of a thousand goddamned exploding suns, and yet I drove straight through to get here, find you and end you.”

The man was trying to articulate behind his gag, but Dean was skilled and nothing was getting past it.

Sam said, “This is completely out of bounds They’re not monsters. They’re human.”

The gagged man’s eyes widened and he nodded, in a classic, ‘what he said!’ gesture.

“Leave. This will all be on me,” Dean said.

“Except that I enabled you.”

“In for a penny. Help me dispose of the bodies when I’m done with them.” Sam left, with one last heartrending glance of grief and resolve.

Both the man and the woman were screaming behind their gags. Their chance of surviving this ordeal had just dropped to zero, and they both knew it.

“You know,” Dean said, taking out a knife, while his guests vainly rocked in their chairs and made smothered noises of terror, “I want you to understand what’s going to happen to you. I’m going to strip you both and get you both nice and clean, one at a time so it’s just special private time between the two of us, and then I’m going to dip you in a liquid that will increase your pain as I skin you by about, oh, I dunno, ten times maybe, and then I’m gonna skin you nice and slow and careful so you take your time dying, and I’m going to hold your hand while you die because hey, I’d hate for you to die with loved ones around, and then I’m gonna salt and burn your bodies.”

He took their clothes off with a knife when he could get away with it, and scissors when he wanted to avoid nicking their bonds. Both of them were weeping. They were going someplace where they wouldn’t need their clothes, ever again.

He’d bound them both so as to cut off circulation and render them helpless as puppies. He knifed through the bonds restraining them to their chairs. Naked, they tumbled onto the floor, yelling in pain against their gags as they bashed their arms and faces.

“Which of you two wants to go first. I’ve got an idea. Whichever of you makes the most noise in the next sixty seconds will go first.” He loomed over them. The woman struggled, and therefore made more noise. The man lay still. ”If you’d never written that script you wouldn’t be here, did I tell you that? I think I told you that. But you know, despite the fact that there would BE NO FUCKING SHOW without you, you took that incredible gift and you ripped apart one of the basic relationships in the show, you toyed with the fans like you were cheap fucking villains, and worst of all, you put me in a position where am I doing the same goddamned thing. But the big difference between us, the one the holds the fans up like the Hand o’ God, is that I’m doing this for love, and you, you fucking idjits,” and here Dean ungently toed the woman in the ribs, “You took money to fuck us over.”

“So can I tell you how you can escape from this nightmare?” Dean said. His voice had softened. A smile, sexy and deliberate and gentle as a sigh, settled on his lips.

“Quit writing.”

He looked at them.

“I know that in the end, it’s the folks signing checks at the production companies that are responsible. But if they’re going to keep paying you, then you have to come out of the equation.”

“Please go write for a show that doesn’t have 12 years of internal continuity, because Dr. Sexy deserves better than to have your fucking terrible dialogue. Best of all quit writing. If this was your true vocation you’d learn something and be better at it, and we could see you getting better over time. But you haven’t and you need to find something else to do.”

“One more thing before I go. Report me to the police, go ahead. But I have friends, and the investigation will never go anywhere, and everything to do with your file will keep disappearing.”

Of course they went to the cops. Nothing ever came of it - Rowena hexed them to within an inch of their lives, and Dean was happy to work with her on it. The writing partnership foundered. The Dr. Sexy show never recovered from the blow of that dreadful script and the internet firestorm that followed, and was cancelled. Dr. Sexy quit acting and worked the convention circuit until 2045.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there it is. I vented my spleen. Thank you to my subscribers!!!


End file.
